Through a Glass Darkly
by CrazyAce'n'PokerFace
Summary: Haru considered her friend. Yes, it was definitely Chrome-chan, even if she was 10 years older. But it was a little shocking to see her ram her trident into Hibari-san's stomach as if she did it every day. 1896, 5986, & 27K.
1. I Love Him, I Love Him Not

**Author's Note: Hi, everybody! This is just me, CrazyAce, trying my hand at writing 1896, because I adore this couple and it needs more love! So thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy! :D **

**Disclaimer: I don't own KHR or any of its characters—that honor goes to Akira Amano-sensei. However, if there was an alternate universe where I owned Hibari, you can be certain I wouldn't be sharing him. :)**

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><p><strong>Chapter One: I Love Him, I Love Him Not<strong>

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><p><em>Present Time: Haru<em>

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><p>At nineteen, Dokuro Chrome is beautiful—heartbreakingly so because she doesn't even realize it. Doesn't see the way men's glances are drawn to her, doesn't see the way women stare in envy, doesn't see the way she stands out quietly in a crowd.<p>

Maybe it's because she's so used to being _unseen_, so used to making herself disappear.

Still, it's a little odd for someone who's a trained observer and an illusionist with an eye for detail to miss something so _obvious_.

Haru muses on all of this as she sits across from said girl, curiously observing Chrome observing everyone else, even as she sets placemats, puts down plates, arranges forks and spoons, and carefully lays a napkin in front of each seat at the table. Haru would be doing all that herself if Chrome hadn't insisted on being useful. Chrome always insists on being useful, needs to be needed, doesn't ever want to be left behind or thrown away—_please, please, please let me help you (please keep me)_—her eyes begged, so how could Haru say no?

She possibly _should've_ said no—stupid Gokudera started yelling about how useless she was being. And feeding Chrome's addiction was probably a bad thing, but honestly, who turns away a chance to sit and relax on a hot summer day?

In any case, this gave her the perfect opportunity to question her friend—"Hey, Chrome-chan, has anyone asked you out yet?"

In hindsight, she probably shouldn't have asked that just as Chrome was setting down the last plate. Now instead of getting an answer, she has to get a broom and sweep up the broken shards while waving away Chrome's near-hysterical apologies.

_Oh, well_, she thinks to herself. _There's plenty of time to find somebody nice for her._

If there's anything Haru loves to do (besides make costumes, eat cake, annoy Gokudera, and learn how to become a proper mafia wife—_TsunaTsunaTsuna_), it's to play matchmaker. And every good matchmaker knows that there isn't anything more attractive to boys than a girl who doesn't know she's beautiful.

Every boy wants to be the first one to make a girl feel beautiful—to be the first one to make a girl feel like a woman.

Well, every boy except Gokudera. Haru wrinkles her nose as the Storm Guardian takes one look at the broom in her hand and bluntly says, "Only an idiot would break a plate before we've even eaten."

Of course, the only thing to do is smack him over the head with the broom, especially since Chrome was right behind her and heard everything and is now on the verge of tears once more. Haru feels bad about the broom-smacking, because a lady shouldn't use cleaning supplies as weapons (_that's what guns are for_, a dark corner of her mind thinks quietly, the corner which wishes she weren't so weak, which whispers that she could always take up Reborn's offer to teach her a few tricks), but not about the bump she puts on Gokudera's head.

Sometimes Haru thinks Gokudera's only goal in life is to make her feel the farthest possible thing from womanly.

So she sticks her tongue out at him and closes the kitchen door in his face, right after she ushers Chrome into the room.

"Hahi! Haru hates that insensitive man!" she yells, loud enough to be heard through the wooden door, then presses her ear against it to listen for the sounds of his angry footsteps stalking away (music to her ears, she thinks, even as she remembers a wavering hand hovering over black and white keys, almost but never quite touching them).

She turns around to face an amused Nana, a chuckling Hana, a smirking Bianchi, a sighing Kyoko, a giggling I-Pin, and a trembling Chrome.

Beautiful, beautiful Chrome, whose anxiety causes her violet eye to widen, her pink lips to part slightly, and her body to fold into a posture that just _begs _to be protected.

Oh, how boys will bend themselves backward to be the one to protect her.

But Haru knows, and Kyoko knows, and every woman/girl in the room knows that Chrome can damn well protect herself. Even Chrome knows it, although she won't admit it.

Haru looks around the room, surrounded by her own personal sisterhood, and she can't resist smiling mischievously.

"I think Chrome-chan has a boyfriend," she gleefully announces to the room.

If anything, this causes Chrome to tremble harder.

"N-no! I don't!" she gasps.

The inhabitants of the room throw back their heads and laugh, except for Haru, who's pouting. "Well, that's no fun at all. I was hoping for some juicy details here, you know." She sighs, then gives Chrome a pointed look. "You have to promise Haru that you will tell her_ first_ when someone asks you out—and when you actually say yes."

Chrome has recovered enough to shake her head in the negative. "I don't think that's going to happen, Haru-san."

"Why not?" Hana asks. "You have somebody else you want to tell first?"

"No. Just—I don't think anyone will ask me, and I don't think I'll say yes, even if they do ask." _Besides, I don't have to tell Mukuro-sama anything—he just knows_, Chrome thinks.

But she is absolutely certain nothing of the sort will ever happen, so it's a moot point.

But everyone else in the room watches her, and they know it's not.

"You'll say yes," Bianchi says with conviction. "Someday someone will come along and they'll sweep you off your feet, and you won't have a choice but to let them."

Chrome looks doubtful still, but shrugs and says she promises Haru anyway if it ever (never) happens.

Kyoko laughs. "I think you're missing the point of girl talk. It's supposed to be fun, Chrome-chan, not torture."

"Yeah!" Haru seconds. "Like a game! Don't you remember putting a dishtowel on your head and pretending you were a bride getting married?"

Haru watches closely as Chrome shakes her head yet again. "No—I always liked playing house instead, but there was never a husband, just me and my baby."

Chrome has that look in her eye, that very wistful, longing look that just tugs at Haru's heart.

"I wouldn't mind never being a wife if it meant I could be a mother," the illusionist says, and she speaks in present tense, makes it painfully, poignantly clear that her wish for a child has not yet been crushed.

Even though it was also clear that the chances of such a wish ever being fulfilled were as solid as dandelion seeds blowing through the winds.

So Haru smiles and hugs her suddenly, says, "Who says you can't be both? I bet you'd be a great wife _and_ a wonderful mom. The best mom in the world!"

"Really?" Chrome asks, all shyness and hope and doubt.

"Really," Haru says, and she thinks that Chrome's future husband better know how lucky he is to get someone as beautiful on the inside as she is on the outside.

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><p><em>Future Time: Chrome<em>

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><p>Sometimes, as her husband lies sleeping beside her, Chrome wonders what it says about her that she married the first man who made her feel beautiful. And dangerous. And wanted.<p>

Not necessarily loved—just wanted. The first man who ever made her feel loved was Boss, and she couldn't very well marry him when he was married to Kyoko. Besides, the way she loved him was the way one loved a leader, not a lover.

But sometimes she finds herself wondering why she didn't marry the first man who ever made her feel strong, who made her feel needed. And then she stops, because marrying Mukuro-sama would've been like marrying herself. It would've meant marrying her own reflection, would've meant disappearing, because if she married somebody so like herself, let the "two become one flesh," as the saying went, just like the two souls were already one spirit, what was to stop the part of her who wasn't like Mukuro-sama (all the parts that loved and laughed and forgave, the parts of her who could be _more_ than what she was) from vanishing?

Then she wonders why she didn't marry one of the men who first made her feel like she belonged somewhere—but Ken and Chikusa were more like her brothers than anything else, so how could she marry them?

Who else had there been?

There was the first man who had ever taken the time to teach her—but Lambo had been a bad teacher of Italian overall, not to mention far too young for her, and besides, he had I-Pin.

The first man who had ever rescued her (after Mukuro-sama, that is)—but Ryohei-san's personality was far too different from hers, and even if he could stop the Varia, there was no stopping Hana when she made up her mind.

The first man who had ever made her feel delicate—poor Gokudera-san had been stuck with first-aid duty, winced along with her as he bandaged her wounds, but even as he did so she noticed how his eyes strayed to Haru. They'd filled with envy and concern and something else as he watched her expertly wind a bandage around Yamamoto's arm, though not a trace of that something-else was in his voice when he yelled at her to hurry up, since all of the Guardians had to get back to the battlefield (but not Haru, oh, no, he'd never send _Haru_ to the battlefield, not even when she learned to use a long-range rifle like an expert sniper, not even when she wore a concealed semi-automatic like some women wore pearls). But she hadn't wanted someone who made her feel delicate all the time, and Gokudera hadn't wanted someone who wouldn't yell back at him, so theirs was a romance that never was.

The first man who had ever made her feel vibrant, full of energy—she remembers fondly a dark-haired boy who taught her how to waltz in the middle of a ballroom with a crystal chandelier and windows that afforded a glimpse of the Italian moon, who laughed away her apologies for stepped-upon feet and clammy hands. Thinking of it, she might have married him if he had wanted to marry her, but marriage would always have been a paltry fourth to swordsmanship, baseball, and friendship in Yamamoto Takeshi's book. And besides, even if he'd made her feel like dancing, he'd never actually set her pulse racing—and in Kyoko's gentle words, "sometimes the spark just wasn't there."

The first man who had ever made her feel pretty, who had ever made her blush—but Dino-san had made a lot of women blush, and his gaze alone could make a girl feel pretty, so she'd chalked her reaction up to champagne and giddiness over the first compliment paid to her looks ("pretty" was worlds away from "cute"). Besides, there was that conversation she'd overheard shortly afterwards—"Come on! I just told her the truth!" "Herbivores should keep their idiotic comments to themselves." "…you're just jealous 'cuz I got to tell her she was pretty first, aren't y—oof!"—that made her think that maybe Dino-san shouldn't have complimented her, shouldn't have gotten himself into trouble on her behalf.

And…well, that was pretty much almost all the men she knew. There were also the Varia—but no. Basil-san…? Fuuta-kun…? Irie-san…? She cared for them, loved them all, but only as her family. She didn't love them, not like _that_, and Bianchi-san said that love was everything, and Chrome would never marry for the sake of anything besides love (not like her mother, no, never like her mother, who married for greed and spite and anger and all the things that left Chrome broken-bleeding-_dying_-on-the-floor).

_So really, I shouldn't have gotten married at all_, Chrome idly decides as she listens to the quiet breathing beside her.

For a while she was certain she never would, never could—not when her heart, mind, body, _everything_ belonged to Mukuro-sama.

And always, there was that conversation in the Sawadas' kitchen, on that idyllic summer day, encircled by women and girls who loved her and wanted the best for her, friends who'd chatted, advised, and gossiped as they cooked. And she remembers promises—promises to tell them who asks her out, promises to let them know who she says yes to, promises to let them pick her clothes for the first date, promises to let them know about the first kiss, first touch, first _time _(she blushed then, she chuckles now as she remembers), promises to let them be her bridesmaids, promises to marry only somebody who loves her, whom she loves back, whom she'd let be the father of her children.

She remembers, too, the absolute ache she felt surrounded by all that love, all the while so certain she'd never get to fulfill any of those promises. So certain the mumbled dream of motherhood—_anything, I'd do anything for a baby, for someone to love, she won't even have to love me back, I'll keep her safe, love her forevereverever_—which she'd never revealed to anyone else (and she only ever said it aloud that once, said that she wanted to be a mother to the girls she considered part of her family, said it to people who she _knew _wouldn't laugh)—so certain that the dream would stay just that. A dream.

But, still. It's the promises she remembers first, before the absolutely certain doubts. (How can doubts be certain? It oughtn't make sense, but it does.)

_Promise to make sure he loves you first._

It should've been impossible to find somebody who loved her. How could somebody love her when she wasn't even sure if she loved herself?

_Promise to make sure you love him back._

It should've been impossible to find enough room in her heart to love anyone outside her family—which is why she married a member of the Vongola, she supposes.

_Promise to make sure he'll be a good father for your children._

It should've been impossible to find anyone who'd be willing to let her have his children. She hadn't even been sure if she could get pregnant.

It should've been impossible, yet here she was, and she'd only ever broken those very first two promises, and that was only because her husband hadn't actually _asked _her out, so she couldn't actually _say _yes in response.

Hibari Kyoya had never been much for words, after all.

She turns now, looks at him in perfect silence because he hates to be waken. She eases herself down, makes herself comfortable, and smiles as his arm snakes out, lightning-fast, and tightens itself around her waist.

She married the first man who ever made her feel wanted, desirable—and she remembers wearing a strapless violet dress, remembers the feel of her hair brushing her bare shoulders and exposed back, remembers the flash of diamonds at her throat, remembers how none of that made her feel particularly sexy until she'd met his gaze. She'd felt the first stirring of attraction during that electric exchange, when he'd narrowed his eyes and really_ looked_ at her. Looked at her with a kind of hunger she'd never seen before, looked at her like he was going to push her to the wall and take her then and there, looked at her like they were the only ones in the room and she was the only woman in the world.

She married the first man who ever made her feel dangerous, powerful—and she remembers the utter joy she'd felt when he'd challenged her—_her_, not Mukuro-sama—to fight him to the death. She remembers how he never stopped to look back when they were on missions, how he was never surprised when she appeared uninjured at his side after finishing her end of things. She remembers his quiet approval the day she held a trident at his throat, her hands steady and her lone eye clear. She remembers the odd vulnerability in his eyes the first time they made love, how uncertain he'd looked for a moment just after he entered her—_I could shatter him right here and now_, she thought then. She remembers how heady that felt, to have power over him, to know she could bring him to his knees if she wanted, to know she could crush his heart in her hands. She remembers, too, how wary he had been when she'd done neither, when she'd only quietly surrendered—and that was how she'd found out that love scared him more than anything else.

She married the first man who ever made her feel beautiful, made her feel like a woman—he never actually tells her so, just shows it in his eyes and with his hands and through his actions. God, she feels so beautiful around him.

Yes, she married the first man who ever made her feel beautiful, but that was because she knew that after him, no one else would ever be able to make her feel anything but.

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><p><strong>Author Note: And that's chapter one of my very first foray into the world of KHR fanficdom! Hope it wasn't too awful. ;)<strong>

**On a more serious note, I wish to clarify that Chrome's section is in no way a criticism of any other of Chrome's pairings—it's just an explanation of why my version of her "settled" on Hibari. And it was also a useful way to introduce most of the pairings that feature in this story. :D**

**So yeah, hoped you enjoyed it, and please review! :) **


	2. Catch a Falling Star

**Author's Note: Hi, everybody! Thanks for reading Chapter Two of **_**Through a Glass Darkly**_**. We hope you enjoy it, as we certainly enjoyed writing it! :) **

**Disclaimer: I don't own KHR or any of its characters—that honor goes to Akira Amano-sensei. However, if there was an alternate universe where I owned Hibari, you can be certain I wouldn't be sharing him. :)**

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><p><strong>Chapter Two: Catch a Falling Star and Put It in Your Pocket<strong>

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><p><em>Future Time: Chrome<em>

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><p>At twenty-nine, Hibari Chrome was efficient—ruthlessly so because she spent years living like every day would be her last. Being a part of the Kokuyo group, making a home with Ken and Chikusa wherever they could find a place, letting herself be a vessel that Mukuro-sama could conceivably dispose of at any second…these things offered no stability whatsoever. Yet that was what she had: the certainty that nothing was ever certain. For years, she couldn't quite believe in tomorrow, couldn't quite picture the possibilities of the future.<p>

Mukuro-sama always said that was one of her weakest features: her inability to imagine that which could be. It was, admittedly, a rather strange handicap for an illusionist, but unlike Mukuro-sama, who lived entirely for the future and could spend years/decades/centuries waiting for his plans to come to fruition, Chrome had existed solely for the present—because she wanted to disregard the past and because she was ambivalent about the future. Why worry about the past? It was done with. Why worry about the future? It hadn't happened yet. Why waste time worrying about the time you had/will have?

Instead, she made sure she didn't waste a single second of the time she did have. Hence, efficiency.

(That efficiency, that single-minded concentration on living every waking moment to its fullest, was actually in Kusakabe Tetsuya's list of "Top Ten Reasons Why Kyo-san Married Chrome-san." The two were strikingly similar in that regard.)

But although Chrome was still ruthlessly efficient, things had changed.

For example, if today had been a normal day, when Kyoya had gotten out of bed at 5:30 a.m., she would have wordlessly gotten up with him. He would have headed off to train in their dojo for an hour; she would have talked to Tetsuya about household accounts, the plans for the day, and whether or not the dry cleaners were able to get the blood out of Kyoya's suits. At 6:30 a.m., Kyoya would have taken his 15-minute shower, and she would have started eating breakfast in the dining room with the windows that faced the gardens. At 6:50 a.m., he would have walked in, and they would have finished breakfast together in silence, Kyoya reading the morning reports and drinking his coffee, Chrome remaining quiet, having already done so.

At 7:30 a.m., Chrome would have gone to their room to change, and Tetsuya would have brought the car out to the front of the house. At 7:45 a.m., Kyoya would have stalked out of the front door and Chrome would have been two steps behind him, ready to go their separate ways.

(Before he opened the door, Chrome would have spoken to him for the first time that morning: "Have a good day." He wouldn't have said anything in reply, just placed a hand under her chin and given her a rough kiss, then walked out the door without a backward glance. Neither of them believed in saying good-bye.)

There would have been a decent chance that both of them would have gone to the airport that day and not seen each other for a week. Vongola business would often have them at opposite ends of the world—Kyoya would be happily fighting hordes of foot soldiers belonging to rival families in Italy, and Chrome would have been pretending to be someone else and gathering intelligence in China. Or they could have been infiltrating the Corlinis' headquarters and wreaking havoc together. Kyoya preferred to stay close to home, however, so more likely than not they would have conducted mafia business right in Japan, and at 5:30 p.m., Chrome would have been back at the estate. At 6:30 p.m., she would have finished any miscellaneous tasks that came with running a household. At 7:00 p.m., she would have emailed Haru and Kyoko in Italy and ignored the pang of her heart that she'd come to associate with loneliness.

At 7:30, she'd have gone to the dojo to train for an hour, and Kyoya would come in and spar with her if The Foundation had no pressing issues—and that would be the first break in their rigid schedules. Kyoya was nothing if not unpredictable in battle, and no matter how long they fought, Chrome would always be exhausted.

Sometimes, though, Kyoya would be unpredictable in an entirely different manner—she'd be blocking his attacks one second, and the next she'd be on the floor, with his hand pinning her wrists above her head, his teeth nipping the skin at her throat, his knees forcing her legs open wide, his mouth smothering her screams as his hips thrust relentlessly against hers. Or maybe she'd be the one to catch him off-guard, trapping him in one of her illusions—and when that happened she never could resist tormenting him in the most sensuous of ways, seeing how far she could push his control, reveling in the way his low growls would morph into frustrated moans.

There was a reason why the dojo was sound-proofed, after all.

Afterwards, she and Kyoya would share a leisurely soak in the tub, then she'd either go to bed and read while he would pore over more reports, or they'd go to bed together and continue where they left off, until both of them were sated and sleeping.

Then 5:30 would have rolled around, and their day would start again.

Today, however, was not a normal day. Today, and every day for the last year, Chrome's life had been nothing but extraordinary. Today, Chrome, while still efficient, no longer had any problems visualizing the future.

How could she, when she was looking right at her?

Chrome stood over the crib, watching her daughter sleep on her back and counting each of her flawless features. One stubborn, little chin; one rosy, puckered mouth; one small, elegant nose. Two fluttering eyes, fringed with long, long lashes, and framed by delicate brows that were currently pulled into a scowl. Ten tiny fingers, already fisted, ten tiny toes, already kicking, and she wasn't even awake. Chrome ghosted a hand over soft, black hair, tenderly brushed her fingers against a smooth, pale cheek, and smiled as one miniature hand caught her index finger and _gripped_—she was just like her father, Chrome thought. Such strength she had. And such beauty…her baby was_ so_ beautiful, so _perfect_ that it made Chrome's heart ache just to look at her.

"You are going to wake her," a deep voice interrupted.

Chrome sent a glance towards her husband, who was casually leaning against the doorjamb, watching her watch their daughter. She spared him a small smile before turning back to the object of her adoration. Nevertheless, she was aware of him crossing the room, and wasn't surprised when his arms wrapped tight around her waist and his chin came to rest upon her shoulder.

"Thank you," she said quietly. She didn't have to see his raised eyebrow to hear his unspoken question. "For granting me my greatest wish," she clarified.

He grunted, not bothering to answer her. He drew back a little, shifting his hands to her hips in a possessive hold. "We're leaving soon. The Ghibellines have overstepped their bounds and Sawada needs us."

"I know," she answered softly. She didn't move.

"She'll be here when we get back," he said, almost grudging in his tone; the words sounded too much like a reassurance, and God forbid Hibari Kyoya would try to _comfort _someone. "Get in the car," he finished brusquely.

Chrome nodded once in reply and extracted her finger from her daughter's hand. Then she bent over her baby's head and kissed her lightly, whispered "I love you" like a secret, soft against her ear, so that it would enter her dreams and remain in her heart even while Chrome herself was gone.

Straightening, Chrome walked out the door, closed it, and then leaned against it in order to catch Kyoya's quiet command: "Behave yourself." It was the closest to a verbal "I love you" as he could get, and for all its formal harshness it still melted her heart to hear him say it, to hear the emotion it expressed.

By the time he followed her out of the room, she was halfway down the hall, carrying a single suitcase and showing no indication that she had listened in. Five minutes later, the two of them entered the car Testuya brought to the front of the house, their actions the epitome of synchronized skill, with not a single movement wasted.

"Let's get this over with," Chrome murmured as they left Namimori behind them, already planning how to best eradicate the Ghibellines and get home as quickly as possible.

After all, she was nothing if not efficient.

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><p><em>Present Time: Kyoko<em>

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><p>When watching Chrome, Kyoko couldn't help but admire her friend's efficiency: not a single second was squandered, not a single move was made without a purpose. Each and every action flowed seamlessly into the next in a graceful, elegant dance—even if that dance happened to be nothing more than packing up cardboard boxes, duct tape in hand.<p>

Kyoko thought wryly that it was kind of unfair for her to look so quietly dangerous with so little effort, and when she caught Haru's eye, she could tell her best friend thought the same, shared a matching benevolent envy.

Or was it really so benevolent? Sometimes Kyoko found herself wondering if that was actually the case, if what she felt was truly nothing more than admiration mingled with a natural jealousy.

After all, Chrome—with the deadly trident, the insidious illusions, the madman in her head—_Chrome_ was allowed to participate in battle. _Chrome_ was wanted, needed, respected as a warrior in her own right. _Chrome_ was privy to each of the covert meetings, every one of the whispered conversations, all of the veiled lies. _Chrome_ was trusted to keep those secrets hidden behind her doll-like smile, with her violet eye growing darker and darker with the weight of everything that was left unsaid.

_Chrome_ was never expected to stay at home and do nothing but wait, and wait, and _wait_, until she went insane with the emptiness and the silence pressing down, a silence full of nightmares and blood and memories of a smile that she would never see again, never, never, _never, _and oh, God, please, no, he had to come back home, please, please, please, please, _please_.

_Chrome _was going with the boys to Italy.

And there, Kyoko knew, was where the envy ceased to benevolent, and turned ugly instead.

She stood in front of the counter in the kitchen in the house that had been full of love and light and laughter, in the house that was her childhood and her innocence, in the house that was her stillness and her sisterhood and her strength. It was the house where Sawada Nana welcomed everyone with open arms, where I-Pin-chan, Lambo-kun, and Fuuta-kun played, where Bianchi-san absent-mindedly hummed as she cooked, where she and Haru-chan giggled together, where all the boys were safe and sound. It was the house where her family lived, the house that was home.

It was Tsuna-kun's house—except that in two weeks, it wasn't going to be.

Kyoko didn't quite know where that left her.

Well, she supposed she_ did_ know where it left her—it left her behind. In Japan. Which was once the only place she ever wanted to be before she realized it wasn't a place but a person she wanted to be with. And being left behind was far too close to being forgotten for comfort, and—

"Are you okay, Kyoko-san?"

Kyoko managed to rearrange her face before turning around to meet a gaze that was too old for someone who hadn't yet finished her second decade and too knowing of heartbreak for someone who had never fallen in love.

"Yes, of course I'm fine, Chrome-chan. Why wouldn't I be?" she said with a smile. It was too brittle and felt too broken on her face, but what else could she do? Isn't that what she was meant for, loved for? Her ever-present, ever-sunny smile. (Sometimes she wished she had something else to offer, something that would have made her good enough to take to Italy, something wouldn't have made her too precious not to leave behind.)

Chrome glanced around at the packed boxes, the empty shelves, and the no-longer bustling kitchen around them before giving Kyoko a look that would have been pointed had it come from anyone else. But it came from Chrome, so it only looked concerned.

"Umm…well, in that case, Haru-san says to tell you…that Lambo-kun is stuck in a drawer…and it would be nice if you could come…and help her get him out," Chrome said, keeping her eye on Kyoko's and her ears ready to catch…anything, it seemed. Even her thoughts.

Chrome had gotten better at talking without stuttering, but to an untrained ear her words still had the sound of hesitation. Kyoko knew better; Chrome spoke with deliberation, her pauses thoughtful, both considering (weighing each word, treating them all as precious) and considerate (weighing each person, treating _their_ thoughts and feelings as priceless in comparison to her own). She spoke almost as if inviting an interruption, as if expecting someone to layer their voice over hers. Kyoko suspected it came partly from years of living with Mukuro in her head, and partly because Chrome knew how to make traps out of silence. Kyoko had seen it again and again, had used it herself more than once: withholding one's words so others would fill the quiet, often with the things that they didn't want you to know. Kyoko thought she was good at it, but Chrome was a master of the art of listening—she heard both sounds and silences, things spoken and things _meant_.

And now all her considerable skill was aimed towards Kyoko, that steady, patient eye waiting for her answer.

"Thank you for telling me, Chrome-chan. I'll be right up." Another smile to go with her words, this one more natural, but it still stretched at her mouth, natural only in the sense that it revealed her bittersweet thoughts.

Chrome nodded and turned to leave, but paused instead, her slim profile framed by the doorway. "Home…home is where the heart is…" she said softly, almost as if she was speaking to herself. "And the heart…the heart can be in more places than one." She went quiet for a bit, and Kyoko said nothing and waited. Chrome took a breath, then continued, "It will be okay, Kyoko-san. Family is stronger than distance." She fidgeted a little, still keeping her eye turned away (Kyoko had the distinct feeling it wasn't because Chrome couldn't meet her gaze, but because Chrome didn't want her to feel as if _she_ was too transparent). "I…I can listen, though. If you would like." She glanced at Kyoko out of the corner of her eye for a moment, then turned and walked out of the room on silent feet, pulling the door shut behind her.

Kyoko used the seconds and quiet left in the room to gather strength before following. She went upstairs, helped maneuver Lambo out of his improbable position in the drawer, and laughed with Haru and Chrome until the ache in her heart was something bearable.

Later, the boys came in and joined them, and for Tsuna, the sunny smile was back in place, the envy no longer a twisted thorn in her heart. In its place was a root of resolve and determination to be something more than a girl who was left behind.

If Chrome could do it, she could, too.

So Kyoko smiled and smiled and smiled, all the while holding fast to Haru and Chrome's hands, knowing that when she finally let herself cry instead, she wouldn't be alone.

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><p><strong>Endnote: And that's Chapter Two, folks! We're sorry for the wait, but we hope you enjoyed it anyway. There will be a plot soon, we promise; we're just gearing up for it. The next chapter's going to have interaction between Present Chrome and Present Hibari, so we hope you stick around! ;)<strong>

**Thanks to everyone who added us to their alerts or their favorites. We appreciate it!**

**Special thanks goes to the following people for reviewing the last chapter: Juliedoo, chromeluster27, Audriel, Cristinne, lil'chrome-chan, Conanfan15, yasumi kerzhen, Wowserz in muh pantz, Nienna-Scorpius, and LavenderSkies. You guys make my day! :D **

**Lots of love and gratitude to them, and to anyone who's read this story. :D**

**Thank you for reading this story, and please review and tell us what you think! :D**


	3. Change for the Better, for the Worse

**Author's Note: Hi, everybody! Thanks for reading Chapter Three of **_**Through a Glass Darkly**_**. We hope you enjoy it, as we certainly enjoyed writing it! :) **

**Disclaimer: I don't own KHR or any of its characters—that honor goes to Akira Amano-sensei. However, if there was an alternate universe where I owned Hibari, you can be certain I wouldn't be sharing him. :)**

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><p><strong>Chapter Three: Change for the Better, Change for the Worse<strong>

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><p><em>Present Time: Hibari<em>

* * *

><p>At twenty-one, Hibari Kyoya is impatient. The preparations for the move to Italy have been underway for weeks, and he is ready to simply pack up and leave the rest of the squabbling herbivores behind. Reborn has promised him battles in Italy—the Bucking Horse will be there, and the Varia, and many, many enemies to cut down. Apparently, if one is in the mafia, one can leave as many bodies behind you as you like, and other people will clean up the mess.<p>

Though the move is temporary (six months: Kyoya had grudgingly given Sawada that much—to leave Namimori for any longer would be anathema), the benefits are reason enough to endure the hassle.

Or so he thought.

He is re-evaluating things at the moment, ever since Tetsu had come up and quietly informed him that as a member of Sawada's Guardians, Reborn was politely requesting he greet the Guardians of the Ninth Vongola, who'd come all this way to help them with the transition.

Hibari had resisted the urge to shove a tonfa down his second-in-command's throat. It's not Tetsu's fault he's in this predicament.

It's Sawada's.

Hibari does not take well to orders. Hibari does not take well to being classified as a member of a herd, no matter how much the herd had improved from its days of pathetic, clueless grazing to its current level of shocking, monstrous strength. Hibari, especially, does not take well to meeting others and making small talk.

Hibari was made for bloodshed and violence and the pure, sweet joy of broken bones and ruptured organs. He was not made for this…unpleasantness of etiquette, this tedium of conversation.

But if there's anything Hibari understands, it's the need for order, and there is an order to these things. Besides, the baby is interesting, and Sawada has potential, so for the sake of reserving his prized position as #1 on the list of people allowed to use Sawada as a punching bag, he comes.

He even dresses for the occasion, a Western-style suit tailored perfectly to his form. Dryly, he sneers at the ill-cut clothes the Sun Guardian is running around in, watches the Storm Guardian fidget in his finery, notes the way the Rain Guardian's suit is obviously borrowed from his father, and thinks no amount of tailoring will help Sawada if he doesn't straighten up his spine.

It's more than a little amusing that despite his own disdain for the clothing, he's the only one who wears it with any style.

It's not surprising, though. Five generations ago, his family had been ronin; three generations ago, they were the fore-runners to modern-day yakuza; now, his father is so deeply entrenched in the arms industry that they've developed the veneer of respectability. His mother, of course, is twice as ruthless and three times better at hiding it, and she made sure her son could fit comfortably in his skin no matter he wore. At the pointless gatherings of the amoral rich who made their fortunes off of human misery, she can present him and strike fear into the hearts of his father's business rivals, obviously a cut above the rest while still managing to blend in just enough.

The Ninth's Storm Guardian eyes the way he stands and tenses a little. Hibari instinctively shifts his stance, muscles loosening, readying himself for a fight.

The old man merely smirks and cocks a brow, leaning back into his chair, completely at ease.

"Later," Reborn says, interrupting Sawada's stuttered greetings.

"Huh?" Sawada says.

Reborn smacks him impatiently. "Hibari and Coyote can fight later," he clarifies.

Hibari grins while Sawada blanches. "What? Coyote's in his seventies, that's not even—are you _crazy_—wait, no, stupid question, I already knew you were. Hibari, stop smiling like that," he finally snaps, temper sharpening his voice and bringing out that authoritative quality that always makes Hibari want to challenge him to a no-holds-barred fight.

He subsides, though, at Reborn's quelling look. The hitman promised him a fight, and he's always delivered, so Hibari resigns himself to waiting.

The Storm Guardian clears his throat. "So, uh, like the Tenth was saying, we'll be leaving Japan in two weeks. There haven't been any problems with the arrangements thus far, and so long as we get a wing to ourselves on the estate, we should be fine. Most of our luggage has been shipped already, special concessions like weapons, etc., are being handled, and everything looks good on our end. So according to my calculations, we should be settled in and ready to be presented to society a month after our arrival."

"Splendid," Coyote rumbles. He nods approvingly at Gokudera. "It's good that you have all the details down, like a right-hand man should."

The Storm Guardian's chest puffs with pride, though he ducks his head to hide his grin. "Uh, thanks."

Sawada smiles at him, too, and there is something possessive and indulgent about it, similar to the way Hibari's mother tends to smile at her favorite engineers or executives. The Ninth's Guardians take note of it and approve, if their own smiles are anything to go by.

The rest of the meeting is spent in friendly, relaxed chatter that Hibari tunes out. Afterwards, he goes over to a corner only to see that it is already occupied by the Ninth's Cloud Guardian, who merely smiles at him and says, "Can't take me yet, pup."

Hibari snarls but concedes the spot. The point is to find a place to be left alone, not interact with others. Fighting is nice, but it's still interacting, and he's had enough of that for now.

He goes upstairs and climbs onto the roof, and spends a leisurely half hour napping. When he wakes up, the Ninth's Guardians are on the verge of leaving, and the members of Sawada's household have returned: his mother, I-Pin, the ranking-obsessed child, and the two females.

Hibari decides that he's already met his socialization quota, and slips back into the house, intending to leave through the backdoor without any fuss.

Instead, he runs into the Mist Guardian on the first floor—literally.

"Oof!" She exhales upon impact, hands instinctively clutching his shoulders to balance herself. "My apologies, Hibari-san," she says.

He snarls at her and moves to shove her out of the way, but surprisingly she sidesteps him, the movement quick and graceful.

"Oh," she says, blinking. She glances at his hand, then at herself, and her mouth quirks. "Those lessons with Storm Man are paying off," she says to herself. Then she looks at him. "Ah! Please don't tell him I still call him that sometimes. He gets very annoyed."

"Why would I do that?" he asks, annoyed himself. Training with the Storm Guardian improved her reflexes enough that she could dodge him? Why hadn't either of them presented themselves for a fight? If they were going to subject him to tedium and boredom while they dragged their feet making preparations for the trip to Italy (he'd been ready for _days_ now—why no one else saw the benefits of efficiency was beyond him), the least they could do was give him a challenge while they were at it.

She shrugs. "I suppose you wouldn't." She glances at him, glances behind her in the direction he was heading towards, and says, "I wouldn't head out the backdoor, if I were you. Gokudera-san went outside to smoke, and then Haru-san followed a few minutes later, looking for a place to cry. They'll probably be fighting right now."

He glares at her. "Did I ask for your advice, herbivore?"

She wilts under his gaze a little, but doesn't look away. "No…but I was trying to be helpful."

"I don't need help," he tells her.

Foolish herbivore.

He uses the front door, and ignores Sawada's invitation to dinner. Why subject himself to more torture?

(He tells himself that he took her advice only because it was convenient, not because there was a light in her eye that practically dared him to disregard her words.

He doesn't dwell on the fact that in order to prove her wrong, he also proves her right. Mists are annoying that way, and someday he will deal with the problem simply by eradicating all of them from the face of the earth, but that day is not today.)

* * *

><p><em>Present Time: Gokudera<em>

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><p>At twenty, Gokudera is slightly more patient than his fourteen-year-old self—but not by much. In his opinion, patience is a vastly overrated trait anyway.<p>

"I—I can't believe this is really happening!"

"Geez, stupid woman, would you quit your crying already?" he grumbles, staring down at the girl before him, clutching his button-down shirt like it's a lifeline.

A part of him wants to pry her fingers off of him, because hey, he's a guy, and weeping women are so not his thing. Not to mention she's probably ruining the silk with her tears. He isn't sure; it isn't like he's worn formal wear that often since he ran away from home, war meetings and epic battles notwithstanding. He pulls uncomfortably at his tie—God, the thing feels like a noose and the stupid woman gripping him really isn't helping matters. He's a right-hand man and he wants to look the part, damn it.

_You're the son of a boss, my dearest. Stand up straight and look the part._ A voice he's almost forgotten makes its way to the forefront of his mind, accompanied by the image of a face that wore a stern frown at odds with its laughing green eyes.

He'd instantly complied, doing his very best to follow the woman's directions. However, he couldn't help but tug at the bow-tie around his neck. The woman's mock-frown had melted away to reveal a stunning smile, and fine-boned fingers reached out to engulf his tiny hands. _Stop pulling at your tie and do your mama proud_, that warm, warm voice said in Italian, her beautiful face drawing close and placing a kiss on his cheek. It was a face that looked so much like her daughter's, but nothing like his (God, it's so obvious now that he thinks about it—why did she never say she wasn't his real mother, why did she let him think she was proud of him when she wasn't, why did she say _I love you, darling_, when she clearly couldn't, didn't, never loved him, lied, lied, lied).

When people hear his sob story, they tend to focus on the fact that he lost his beautiful mother to a tragic car crash.

They forget that while Lavina Gokudera was lovely, and kind, and he was drawn to her in ways he never understood until years later, he only saw her three days a year.

The other three hundred and sixty-two, another woman wiped his tears away, kissed his scraped knees, listened to his dreams, worried about how he and his sister couldn't get along, read him stories, and let him crawl into the bed during thunderstorms.

Another woman was his mother. And the day he found out whose son he really was, he lost her, too.

"Hahi! Haru is not crying! Haru just has something in her eye!" Haru insists, bringing him abruptly back to the present. He shakes his head—why did he start remembering _her_ of all people? Was it the suit? The impending return to Italy? Whatever brought it on, those old memories are best left buried and forgotten, and he has bigger problems to deal with right here and now.

Like the woman who is currently blinking her eyes rapidly in a futile attempt to…to…he isn't sure what she's doing, actually, but it certainly isn't helping matters.

"Oi, here, wipe your face. I don't want you getting snot on my shirt, and you look ugly when you're blotchy." He waves his handkerchief in front of her face, wincing as she blows her nose loudly and starts berating him.

"Shut up, you insensitive man! Haru is not ugly!"

Not usually, no, he thinks. The girl could be quite pretty, though the effect is rather ruined for him the moment she opens her mouth. Out loud, he says, "Who cares? I just need you to pull yourself together before the Tenth sees you and freaks out. You know he feels bad about leaving you guys behind."

There. That got her to stop.

Haru straightens and firms her trembling lips into a hard line, the look in her eyes determined. "Tsuna-kun has nothing to feel bad about. Kyoko and I will be fine."

Just when he's on the verge of forgetting the stupid woman had steel for a spine…Gokudera feels his mouth curve into a smile of grudging acknowledgement. Yeah, the Tenth has no need to worry at all. By the time the girls joined them in Italy (and Gokudera isn't an idiot; he knows there's no way the girls were staying behind in Japan forever), they'd probably be more competent than all the Guardians put together. Scary thought.

"Get that smirk off your face! It isn't funny! Hahi! Kyoko and I will show you!" Haru yelled, misinterpreting the smile on his face. She pushed him away from her roughly and stomped into the house, where the last of the boxes were being packed up and loaded into the moving vans outside.

As she walks through the doorway, Chrome passes her on her way out. The Mist Guardian takes in her friend's expression and raises a quizzical brow at Gokudera. "Everything alright, Gokudera-san?"

"Yeah, just peachy," he replies. He leans against the wall and pulls out a cigarette, patting himself down in search of his lighter.

"Here," Chrome says, a Mist flame cupped in her hand.

"Does that even work?" he asks.

She smiles, close-lipped and mysterious. She holds out her hand, the purple flame dancing over her palm.

He lights his cigarette. What the hell. It does work. He's gotta try that with his own one of these days. "Thanks," he mutters.

"Glad to be of help," she replies, and isn't that the truest thing she's ever said? Sometimes he thinks she's even more eager to please than he is, and that's saying something (yeah, he's perfectly aware that he can get a little…zealous when it comes to serving the Tenth, but for a boss like Tsuna? It's worth it).

"How about you?" he asks, wanting to make sure she isn't running herself ragged in all the hustle and bustle. "How are you holding up?"

"Just fine," she replies. She leans against the wall beside him, sighs quietly and folds in on herself a slightly. "Kyoko-san was a little sad yesterday," she admits in a soft, low voice, almost like she's imparting secrets of grave importance, and in a way, she is. "She's feeling better now, but I thought Haru-san might be…" She pauses, searching for the right word. "…torn up about us leaving, too." She glances up at him, silently asking him to share his information as well.

"How should I know what that crazy woman's feeling?" he says, shifting, uncomfortable with the topic.

She shrugs. "You're the right-hand man. You make it your job to look after your Family," she says as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

At her words, Gokudera feels some of the tension and uncertainty that's been plaguing him melt away. He gives her a wry look, certain that the Mist's tendency to manipulate is playing a role here, but her expression's as patient and innocent as ever. "Yeah, well, Miura's not exactly the type who needs looking after," he eventually settles on saying. "She can take care of herself. You'll see."

Chrome nods, apparently reassured, and they lapse into a comfortable silence.

Until Lambo runs screaming out of the house, that is.

"AAAAAAAHHHHHHH!" he wails.

"God damn it," Gokudera mutters under his breath, snuffing his cigarette beneath his heel. "What is it now?!" he yells at the wayward Thunder Guardian, who is barely more mature at age eleven than he was at age five. In fact, Gokudera thinks he might have regressed.

"I-Pin says I can't bring weapons to the airport!" the preteen sniffles, trying to hold back his tears. He's clutching the Ten-Year Bazooka to himself like it's a lifeline, or a beloved teddy bear, both of which could be accurately used to describe its purpose to Lambo. Not for the first time, Gokudera wonders what the hell the Bovinos were thinking, sending their heir off with the only working time-traveling device they have. But then, considering the fact that they were responsible for bringing Lambo into the world, maybe it's not so surprising.

"You idiot!" he shouts. "Of course you can't bring weapons into the airport! For God's sake, how the hell were you planning to get it past security!"

"I-Pin could use her voodoo magic!" Lambo yells.

"I-Pin doesn't_ have_ voodoo magic." Gokudera runs a hand through his hair. When did answering questions like this turn into his life? He always thought being a right-hand man would be more glamorous. As the wailing crybaby and quietly amused Mist Guardian demonstrate, it isn't. At all.

"Lambo-kun, wouldn't it be better if you let the Bazooka get sent to Italy with the rest of the delicate luggage?" Chrome asks gently.

"No! The Ten-Year Bazooka is _my_ responsibility!" he says, clinging tighter to the thing, shaggy hair falling into his eyes. The Bazooka is still easily a third of his size—Lambo hasn't hit his growth spurt yet, much to his lamentation, especially as I-Pin's an early bloomer and already has a good three inches on him, despite being the same age.

"Responsibility, my ass!" Gokudera says. "Do you remember how many times you randomly shot yourself with that thing?! Your fifteen-year-old self probably spent more time in the past than he did in his own time period!"

"Did not!"

"Did, too!"

"Did not!"

"Did—oh, you annoying little fucker. Hand that thing over before you cause yet another existential crisis." Gokudera strides forward, fully intent on ripping the weapon away using bodily force. He pulls out a couple sticks of dynamite to underline the threat.

"No!" Lambo cries out. "This bazooka is special!"

"We know that already!"

"No, I mean it's really special! It's an experimental prototype!"

"You liar! It has the same damn stickers on it that it always has!"

"They're different!"

"They're the same!"

"They're different!"

"They're—why am I the one arguing with you?! Where the hell is that crazy woman when you need her? She needs to talk some sense into you; I don't speak fluent lunatic." Gokudera scans the area for Haru, but she's nowhere in sight. Damn it. He turns back to the rebellious kid, who is eyeing the unlit dynamite sticks in his hand with growing indignation.

"Hey!" Lambo cries out, pointing at them. "Why do you get to bring your dynamite on the plane? They're explosives! That's worse than a bazooka!"

"Not_ that_ bazooka. And besides, the bombs are to protect the Tenth. I've got a special dispensation for them," Gokudera replies.

"Liar! You just bribed the airport officials to turn a blind eye! You damn mobster!" Lambo spites out.

Gokudera closes his eyes and counts to ten. _The Tenth really needs a Thunder Guardian. The Tenth really needs a Thunder Guardian. The Tenth really needs a Thunder Guardian_, he tells himself. "We're in the mafia, you dumb little twerp," he grinds out through clenched teeth. "Being mobsters—is—our—_job_."

Lambo just gapes at him, as if this is the very first time this has occurred to him. "But we're Vongola! We're different!"

"Yeah, so believe me when I say that I didn't bribe anybody recently!"

"Aha!" Lambo points an accusing finger at him. "But you've bribed people before!"

Gokudera throws his hands up. "That's not relevant to the conversation! The point is, you're not taking that bazooka on the plane, and that's final!"

"No! You're not the boss of me!"

"Yes, I am, you moronic nitwit!"

"Are not! Tsuna-nii is the boss of me!"

"And I speak for Tsu—the Tenth! So give me that bazooka before I decide to stick dynamite up your ass and pry it from the tattered pieces of your corpse!" He grabs hold of the weapon and tugs, but Lambo has a surprisingly strong grip and refuses to let go.

"No!"

Chrome stepped forward to try and separate them. "Eh, Gokudera-san…Lambo-kun…maybe it would be better if—"

"Give it over!"

"No! Never! No! No—oh!"

**BANG.**

In the midst of the struggle, Lambo inadvertently pulls the trigger, and a dreadfully familiar-looking, pathetic missile shoots out and—

—hits Chrome right in the chest.

"Oh, dear," is all she has time to say before a cloud of smoke envelopes her.

When it clears, Gokudera finds himself looking into the shocked gaze of a stunningly beautiful woman. She's dressed in a black kimono that matches her midnight-colored hair and contrasts with her pale skin. Her face is terribly, horribly familiar, and the single violet eye peering at him is proof enough of her identity, despite the fact that it belongs to a woman a decade older.

She blinks at him, brows furrowing in consternation. "S-storm man?"

Oh, fuck no.

"You," he says to Lambo, "are grounded for life."

Lambo takes one look at the ten-years-older Chrome before promptly going white as a sheet and fainting.

Gokudera feels his eye twitch. Oh, yeah. Patience was _so _overrated.

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><p><strong>Endnote: And that's the end of the chapter! We're sorry for the wait, but we hope you enjoyed it anyway. Next chapter, things really get moving, plot-wise. Well, sort of. We finally get an idea of what the story's about, anyway. ;)<strong>

**Thanks to everyone who added this story (or us) to their alerts or their favorites. We appreciate it!**

**Special thanks goes to the following people for reviewing the last chapter: Moon's Smile, A Midsummer, ThePicturesqueSkyline, HypRRNeRd, MayanMoonFlower, kasumi319, 96bittersweetblackcat, Tsuna 4 Cn4s, Juliedoo, and anionymm! You guys make my day! :D**

**Lots of love and gratitude to them, and to anyone who's read this story. :D**

**Thank you for reading this story, and please review and tell us what you think! :D**


	4. Best Served Cold

**Author's Note: Hi, everybody! Thanks for reading Chapter Four of **_**Through a Glass Darkly**_**. We hope you enjoy it, as we certainly enjoyed writing it! :) **

**Disclaimer: I don't own KHR or any of its characters—that honor goes to Akira Amano-sensei. However, if there was an alternate universe where I owned Hibari, you can be certain I wouldn't be sharing him. :)**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Four: Best Served Cold<strong>

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><p><em>Future Time: Chrome<em>

* * *

><p>At twenty-nine, Hibari Chrome considered herself to be a very patient person; some of it rubbed off from Mukuro-sama, some of it was merely her own disposition, and some of it was just years of practice. She lived with Ken and Chikusa, fought sight by side with Ryohei-san and Gokudera-san, looked after Lambo-kun and I-pin-chan, and married Kyoya. In every relationship, she had been the voice of reason and caution, the cool calculation to balance the heated passion. (And whatever Kyoya claimed, she and Tetsu-san knew patience was <em>not <em>one of his virtues.)

All in all, probably the only person more patient than her in the entire Vongola family was Kyoko-san, and she was rather proud of the distinction.

However, there was a limit to things, and she had reached hers about a week ago now.

Kyoya, of course, had practically lost any semblance of tolerance the minute their plane landed in Italy.

"What do the Ghibellines think they're playing at?" he snarled, pacing the length of the suite provided for them.

Chrome sat cross-legged on the bed, going over surveillance reports and carefully, carefully noting patterns of movement. She glanced at her husband out of the corner of her eye, gauged his mood to be sufficiently under control not to need intervention, and replied, "They've recently recruited a new engineer to help refine their box weapons, and think that it will be enough to carve a corner out of our eastern territory. Boss wants them to make the first move before doing anything. You know his policies."

"They're idiotic, herbivorous policies," he growled.

"They make him different," she said quietly.

_They make him greater than others_, she thought. _They make me remember why it is I would follow him to the ends of hell and back._

She didn't say those thoughts aloud, however, and Kyoya merely scoffed. "Just this once, I wish he would forget his conscience and let me kill those worthless sheep already. We all know how this is going to end."

Chrome looked at the papers in her hands, the stark black ink on white paper that so matter-of-factly listed the deaths of two bystanders here, the kidnapping of an engineer's daughter there, all the human lives destroyed by the Ghibellines in their wake neatly accounted for.

Yes, they knew how this would end.

But the Ghibellines had yet to move on Vongola territory, and by the laws of the mafia, Tsuna could do nothing yet without risking an all-out war. It was best to be patient.

Secretly, though, she agreed with her husband, and with some similar reasons, as it turned out: she wanted to get this over with, she wanted to go home, she wanted to see her daughter again.

But she had a few motives of her own, as well: they had mocked Boss in negotiations, their second-in-command had leered at Kyoko-san like she was a piece of meat and not a person, they killed a five-year-old girl and her father in the street.

The thought of that last, especially, was enough to make Chrome see red.

But then she remembered that revenge was best served cold, and the first bloom of mindless, snarling anger gave way to eerily tranquil calm. She would wait for her chance, and when it came (and oh, yes, it would come), she would make the Ghibellines wish they'd never dared to even think of crossing the Vongola.

She was Mist, and she would create nothing from something, she would erase her Family's enemies from memory itself.

Her husband turned and saw the cold, resolute fury in her eyes, and it kindled a fire in his own. He strode over to the bed, tossed the reports away, and brought his mouth down on hers, biting her lip hard enough to draw blood.

She kissed him back just as fiercely, and they spent the next hour or so venting their frustrations on each other, the marks of his impatience leaving blooming purple bruises on her skin, the weight of her anger leaving long red scratches on his.

After, she whispered to him, "Soon. We will destroy them soon. And _then _we will go home."

He closed his eyes and smiled, the curve of his mouth a feral, wordless promise.

* * *

><p>The next morning, after Kyoya had persuaded Yamamoto-san to spar with him, Chrome tapped quietly on her friend's door before entering. "Haru-san?"<p>

The Vongola's chief lawyer was sitting at a massive, ornate desk and muttering to herself as she pored through books and sheaves of papers, her face awash in the contrasting lights of her computer console and the quaint, old-fashioned desk lamps. She looked up at the sound of Chrome's voice. "Huh—? Oh, Chrome-chan! Come in, come in."

Chrome made her way past the maze of scattered books and maps on the floor to sit in the comfy seat in front of the desk, not quite able to hide the small smile on her face as she did so. "I can come back later if you're busy," she offered.

Haru waved the suggestion off. "Nonsense! I barely get to see you as it is, what with Hibari-san insisting you live in Japan, and me being stuck here in Italy with my stupid husband. Hahi, my only consolation is that my boys, Tsuna-kun, Kyoko-chan, and everyone else are here, too, and they can keep me sane when he goes off on one of his idiotic rants. It's a miracle I haven't strangled him yet."

Chrome's smile widened at her words, knowing full-well that Haru thought Italy was probably the most awesome country in the world, with the possible exception of Egypt (she, like her husband, had a fondness for the ancient pyramids and hieroglyphs). And, of course, their constant bickering was simply part and parcel of her and Gokudera-san's relationship, to the point that sometimes Chrome thought arguing was their way of flirting. "Sorry to be the odd one out," she said. "Kyoya would never leave Namimori for long."

"And you would never leave Kyoya," Haru replied, wrinkling her nose. "Honestly, Chrome-chan, couldn't you have married somebody else? It was so much easier getting cake with you when you lived here in the mansion, and not halfway across the world."

"I know," Chrome said soothingly. "I wish there wasn't so much distance, too. But, well, you always did insist on me marrying someone tall, dark, and handsome."

"I did, didn't I?" Haru said. "I should have said 'tall, dark, handsome, and _sane_.'"

Chrome chuckled. "Not sure it would have stopped me. I'm not the most mentally stable person myself."

Haru grinned ruefully. "Trust me, you're definitely on the saner side of the Vongola's sliding scale of psychotic whack-jobs. And Hibari is at least partly responsible for your absolutely gorgeous daughter, so I guess he can be forgiven for stealing you away from us. You got any more pictures of my darling goddaughter?"

Chrome nodded and pulled out her wallet to show the latest pictures of the love of her life, her heart and soul, her little Nami.

Haru sighed happily. "God, she's so beautiful! And she looks just like Hibari! Hahi! Look at her scowl! Her eyes are all yours, though," she said, smiling.

Chrome tilted her head. "Really? I always thought they looked more like Hibari's. The shape of them, at least."

"Nah. They're all big and violet and really, really pretty. She's even got your eyelashes." Haru handed her back the picture, but Chrome shook her head.

"No, keep it. That's your copy. I have one for Kyoko-san, Bianchi-san, I-Pin-chan, and Hana-san, too."

"All the girls, huh? That's good, seeing as she's the first of the second-generation to be female." Haru looked a little wistful. "Hayato doesn't want me to have more children just yet, seeing as how the last pregnancy was so…traumatic."

Chrome frowned, remembering the incident vividly. "That was the delivery only, and besides, we killed all the Pozzo Neros, didn't we? It's not like anyone else will be stupid enough to shoot you when you're pregnant after they saw what we did to them."

Haru sighs. "You know how overprotective Hayato gets. He really doesn't want to risk it, since he nearly lost me and the boys last time. But he always wanted a little girl and I…"

Chrome reached over and held her hand. "Keep on talking to him. He'll come around," she said reassuringly. "And if not, you can always get Haruka-kun and Hayate-kun to work on him. They want a little sister, too, don't they?"

Haru laughed. "They will after I talk to them! That's a great idea, Chrome-chan."

"Ah, that reminds me. I have toys for them and Sora-kun," Chrome said, referring to Haru and Gokudera's twins and Kyoko and Tsuna's son. "I'm sorry I haven't been able to spend much time with them. The negotiations with the Ghibellines—"

"—are going about as smoothly as a shark stranded in the desert. Yeah, yeah, don't worry about it. They practically worship the ground you walk on anyway, and they can't wait until summer when you guys bring Nami. Haruka especially—I think your godson's got a crush on her," Haru said, winking.

Chrome looked at her wryly. "Matchmaking already? Haruka-kun is five and Nami's barely a year old. I think we can wait a little longer before bringing out the wedding invitations."

"It's never too early to start!" Haru declared. She tucked Nami's photo right into the frame that held Hayate and Haruka's identical, green-eyed, gray-haired, smiling faces. "See how good they'll look together! We'd have beautiful grandbabies! We'd be in-laws!"

"I'm not sure how Gokudera-san would take to being in-laws with Kyoya," Chrome said, her tone dry.

Haru winced. "Oh, yeah. Forgot about that. Hmm. Well, we'll cross that bridge when we get there." She sat back in her chair, her eyes going sharp and serious. "Now, what did you come here to talk to me about?"

Chrome's expression went hard. "I have a plan to provoke the Ghibellines into attacking. I've already run it by Kyoko-san; she agrees it would work, and now I want to ask you."

Haru raised her brow. "Chrome-chan, I'd do anything to take those child-murdering bastards down. What've you got for me?"

"The boys won't like it," Chrome warned.

"Even better," Haru replied, grinning.

Chrome took a deep breath. "How would you feel about Gokudera-san and Hibari-san…disappearing for a while?"

Haru blinked. "…_together_?"

Chrome nodded.

Haru's eyes widened. "We're really going to screw the Ghibellines over, aren't we?"

Chrome gave her a long, steady look. "Yes. Yes, we are."

* * *

><p>Predictably, Tsuna hated the plan.<p>

Kyoko talked to him and convinced him it was the most viable one, the one with the least casualties inflicted all-around.

He eventually agreed.

* * *

><p>Predictably, Gokudera hated the plan.<p>

Haru yelled at him for three hours straight, exiled him to the couch, and had their sons write him hate mail.

He ultimately gave in.

* * *

><p>Predictably, Kyoya hated the plan.<p>

"I hate Sawada's dog. I'm not working with him."

Chrome gave him a measured stare. "Well, you can't work with me. He's the right-hand man, you're our best fighter, and I'm one of two Vongola Mist Guardians. The plan will only work if we use indispensable people."

Kyoya growled. "You are _not _dispensable."

Chrome smiled, cold and cynical. "I'm a woman. To the Ghibellines, I will always be dispensable, especially since I've even failed to give you a son."

Kyoya's eyes narrowed. "…is that what Giorgio Ghibelline said to you at the last meeting?"

"He said it to his right-hand man, but he made sure I could hear it."

"…fine. We'll go with your plan. Tell that useless, tamed Storm that I'm the one who gets to kill Giorgio."

"Done," Chrome said.

He glared at her petulantly. "Devious woman. You even arranged it so you could go home early."

Chrome kissed the corner of his pouting mouth. "Be patient," she said. "It's just a few weeks."

He glared at the wall and said nothing in reply.

She sighed, resigned to waiting out his mild temper tantrum, and went to sleep.

* * *

><p>A few days later, Gokudera and Kyoya were surveying the Vongolas' eastern territory together. They were apparently alone and unguarded, no back-up in sight.<p>

The Ghibellines, possessing more brass than brains, took the bait.

There was a shoot-out. Seventeen Ghibellines died.

Gokudera and Kyoya were captured.

Tsuna had a legitimate reason to declare war solely on the Ghibellines, on his own terms.

Back at the Vongola mansion, Chrome, Haru, and Kyoko toasted to victory.

* * *

><p>"Signora, I regret to inform you that your husband is missing and presumed dead," Dino said, his face solemn but his eyes shining with mirth. "More champagne?"<p>

Chrome nodded, wordlessly extending her glass towards him.

Bianchi rolled her eyes at her husband's behavior. "Shouldn't we be a little less conspicuous celebrating the apparent demise of your best friend?"

"Nonsense!" Dino said. "Anyone who actually believes that a few dozen henchmen could finish off _Kyoya _of all people is obviously missing more than a few brain cells. Besides, shouldn't _you _be more torn up about Hayato's death?"

Bianchi snorted. "Point taken." She ran a hand through Dino's golden hair. "Pass me some of that champagne, won't you, mi caro?"

He did so, and she pressed a lazy kiss to his smiling mouth in reward. Chrome smiled at the sight, remembering how surprising the couple had been to most of their circle when they'd first started seeing each other. She hadn't been taken aback, however—never Chrome, with her violet eye that uncovered secrets as easily as breathing. Something as quietly obvious as a blooming romance between two of her favorite people—encompassed within low laughter, shy smiles, a hand reaching out to curl around an arm—could never catch her off-guard.

Gokudera-san had been ridiculously explosive over it, though.

"Mama?" a sleepy voice asked, and its owner soon came into view, curly strawberry blond hair spilling over eyes as blue as the sky as a small fist knuckled his forehead.

"Mi bambino," Bianchi crooned. "Come say hello to your auntie."

"Hello, Auntie Chrome," Filippo Cavallone said obediently as he tucked himself into his mother's embrace.

"What, no hello for me?" Dino asked, pressing a hand to his heart in feigned pain.

Filippo rolled his eyes in a way identical to his mother. "You live here, Papa. Only guests get hellos."

"Very well, but I demand a kiss." Dino proffered his cheek, and the seven-year-old smacked his lips against it before digging into the desserts on the table.

"You've grown, Filippo-kun," Chrome said admiringly.

Dino sighed. "We know! I could have sworn it was just yesterday that he was learning how to crawl, and now he's learning how to poison people using macaroons."

"It's an important skill," Bianchi said archly.

"I'm certain it is," Chrome said. Filippo offered her a cookie, and she took a small bite out of it.

"You've got some nerve, woman," Dino said, laughing. "But then, you had to have, offering your own husband as bait. Tsuna told me you came up with that crazy plan."

Chrome shrugged. "The Ghibellines have never been the most intelligent of people—all we had to do was make it look like they were out on sloppy reconnaissance, which is technically what they're doing anyway, since they're now wreaking havoc all over the Ghibellines' territory. That was an unexpected bonus. We were just expecting them to get attacked and perhaps handed over to the Russians, not taken into the very heart of the enemies' base of operations."

"Their fault for falling for it so spectacularly," Bianchi said. "But Giorgio Ghibelline has always been an idiot, and so was his father before him, or so says my mother."

"How is Fidelia-san, by the way?" Chrome asked.

"Doing well. Same with the old goat. At this rate, I'll never take over as boss of the Falco," Bianchi replied. Since Gokudera was solidly determined to stay Tsuna's right-hand, his sister was declared the heir to their Family.

"And you can stay here at the Cavallone estate and cook me meals and give me beautiful babies, when you're not out killing people," Dino said cheerfully.

"Mama's good at that," Filippo said solemnly. "Only the bad ones, though. Reborn would get mad otherwise."

"I know," Chrome replied. "She helped teach me when I was younger."

"Really? How old were you?" he asked.

"Thirteen."

"Not fair. I'm not allowed to kill anyone until I'm sixteen," Filippo said, pouting.

Chrome raised her eyebrows.

Dino shrugged in response. "He's his mother's boy—what can I say?"

Bianchi snorted. "You're the one who made Hibari Kyoya his godfather, and you blame _me_ for our son being a bloodthirsty little mafioso?"

"Well, considering you started poisoning your brother when he was six and you were _thirteen_, yes."

"That was an _accident_," Bianchi hissed.

"Since Uncle Hayato is still alive, Papa," Filippo helpfully contributed. "If Mama had really wanted to kill him, he'd be dead. But Grandma wouldn't have liked that, so he's not."

"Ahahahaha," Dino said. "Ha. Well, she is a scary woman, so I would've done my best to stay on her good side, too."

"You fathered her first grandchild. She's never going to have you killed," Bianchi muttered. She turned her eyes on Chrome. "Speaking of killing, are you going to help Tsuna clean out the Ghibellines?"

Chrome shook her head. "No. I'm heading back home to Nami. I'll come back in a few weeks once things have settled down a little, to tie up any…loose ends."

Dino blanched a little at the coldness in her voice. Whenever a Mist used those words in that tone, somebody was sure to be on the receiving end of interrogation that would make death look preferable. He almost felt sorry for the Ghibellines.

Almost.

"Well, we'll miss you," Bianchi said. "See you in the summer."

"See you in the summer," Chrome echoed.

* * *

><p>The second she got home, she'd picked up Nami and simply held her for hours and hours, murmuring her name and "I love you" over and over.<p>

Her baby was still a little upset that Kyoya hadn't accompanied her home, though, so Tetsu suggested they take a break, and Chrome agreed.

She chose the nice little safe house a few miles from the compound, deep in the heart of Namimori, right in the middle of a blandly inconspicuous street. There, she and Nami simply played house—just her and her baby, no husband, the way she'd always imagined when she was a little girl.

(Twenty-nine-year-old Chrome, however, missed Kyoya as fiercely as Nami did. How her younger self would have marveled at how not even holding the physical embodiment of her every dream and hope could quite quench the ache that came from being apart from him.

Though thinking of how jealous he must be, stranded in Italy while she sang lullabies to their daughter, was enough to bring a smile to her face. Contrary to popular belief, Chrome was the sadist, not the masochist, in their relationship.)

And so it was, that three days after returning from Italy, washing the dishes while Nami was napping and absent-mindedly thinking to herself that Kyoya ought to be home in a day or two, Chrome was suddenly enveloped in a cloud of mist and—

* * *

><p><em>Present Time: Future Chrome<em>

* * *

><p>—blinks.<p>

"Oh, no," she says, staring in horror at a ten-years-younger Gokudera-san. "S-storm man?"

* * *

><p><strong>Endnote: And that's chapter four, folks. Thanks for reading!<strong>

**Now for a few quick notes…**

**Future Chrome's timeline began a month or so before the ten-year gap between her and Past Chrome, so if it seems like more time passed in her timeline, it did. Three days after she returned from Italy, however, was exactly ten years from when her past self got shot, so that's when they switched. So Future Chrome's bits take place over roughly a month, even though Past Chrome's bits so far have only taken place over a few days. I hope that makes sense, or at least more sense than the manga (which is not that hard to do, if we're honest; time-traveling in general is freaking confusing, but KHR time-traveling more so).**

**Also, I have decided to differentiate between Present Time and Future Time by having Present Time's verbs set in present tense and Future Time's verbs…set in past tense. Yeah, okay, I know it's a little weird, and our tenses for this story have been really inconsistent, but that's what we'll go with from now on. We'll edit the past chapters to reflect this when we have the time. **

**I give credit for Bianchi's maiden name being Falco to Lys ap Adin. Fidelia Falco, however, is my own invention, and someday a GokuHaru story featuring her and explaining her backstory and role in our KHR-verse will be published. Alas, that day is not today. **

**Lastly, I know technically Bianchi is supposed to be only four years older than Gokudera, but in my own head, she's seven years older, making her one year younger than Dino, so that they're of an age. **

**If you have any more questions, just message us or mention it in your review, and we'll do our best to answer (we reserve the right not to reveal the plot, however—that'll be the next chapter, sorry).**

**Anyway, thanks to everyone who added this story (or us) to their alerts or their favorites. We appreciate it!**

**Special thanks goes to the following people for reviewing the last chapter:** **xxhitorixx, Ficchii, wthtonibelle, Moon's Smile, SeoulXTusta, Furionknight, little101, bleachlover1999, Juliedoo! You guys make my day! :D**

**Lots of love and gratitude to them, and to anyone who's read this story. :D**

**Thank you for reading this story, and please review and tell us what you think! :D**


	5. Code Tsunami

**Author's Note: Hi, everybody! Thanks for reading Chapter Five of **_**Through a Glass Darkly**_**. We hope you enjoy it, as we certainly enjoyed writing it! :) **

**Disclaimer: I don't own KHR or any of its characters—that honor goes to Akira Amano-sensei. However, if there was an alternate universe where I owned Hibari, you can be certain I wouldn't be sharing him. :)**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Five: Code Tsunami<strong>

* * *

><p><em>Present Time: Haru<em>

* * *

><p>At twenty, Haru is even less inclined to put up with Gokudera's dramatics than she was at fourteen.<p>

She's in the kitchen with Kyoko and Bianchi when the yelling starts, and she rolls her eyes and keeps on washing the dishes.

"Hahi! Always picking on Lambo-kun! Doesn't the idiot have even a shred of decency? Why doesn't he pick on somebody his own size?" she mutters.

Kyoko laughs softly. "Someone like you?"

"Exactly!" Haru says, conveniently forgetting that the top of her head hits somewhere just below the bottom of his chin (stupid boys with their stupid growth spurts).

Kyoko hums a little in reply as she dries a plate, and Bianchi casually continues sharpening Nana's knives. "My brother can handle Lambo," she says. "Heaven knows he's had enough practice at it over the years."

"Oh, I know _that_," Haru says. "But can Lambo handle Gokudera-kun? I think not."

"Tsuna-kun is the only one who can really handle Gokudera-kun," Kyoko points out. "Well, Tsuna-kun and you."

"Yes, which is why you and I are moving to Italy as soon as we graduate," Haru says. "Those boys can't fend for themselves—they need someone to keep them in line so Tsuna-kun can get some rest, what with all the crazies he has to deal with. You'll be good for that, Kyoko-chan, he always listens to you. Hahi, just watch! The mafia won't know what hit them. I'm gonna be the best mafia lawyer ever, and you're going to be the scariest, most polite social organizer in history! We're gonna wipe that stupid smirk off that idiot's face!"

Kyoko blinks. "Did Gokudera-kun say something to upset you?" she asks, before hastily amending, "More so than usual, that is."

"Not really," Haru grumbles. "He just smirked at me when I…got some sand in my eye outside."

Kyoko is smart enough to read between the lines, and doesn't push her best friend any further. "It's just two more years," she says instead, her tone gentle and understanding.

Haru sighs. "I know, I know. And I'm going to need it, since I'm not like you when it comes to languages and customs and knowing how to act to make people like you. Hahi, you learned Italian in, like, two months! I listen and listen and listen to those stupid CDs and Gokudera-kun still makes fun of my pronunciation."

"You'll get the hang of it," Bianchi assures her.

Haru twists her mouth petulantly. "Even Hana-chan is better at it than I am, though, and she's only learning it half-heartedly when she's helping Ryohei-san."

"You're still better than Onii-chan," Kyoko says soothingly. "He's only learned how to say 'hello' and 'good night' and 'extreme!'"

Haru gives her an incredulous look. "That's not much consolation, Kyoko-chan."

Her best friend smiles sheepishly. "But it's some, right?"

"Right," Haru says, heaving out a breath. Then she pauses and cocks her head, her hands still in the sudsy water. "Hey, the shouting stopped—"

Her eyes widen, and she and Kyoko exchange horrified looks.

That was _never_ a good sign.

* * *

><p>Haru and the others head outside to find Gokudera-kun yelling at Lambo-kun, who is crying fitfully.<p>

There's a third person in the yard as well, a woman with long black hair dressed in a black kimono. Her back is to Haru, but she seems to be reaching out and trying to get Lambo to stop crying.

"Lambo-kun, there is no need to be upset," the woman said.

"Like hell there isn't! The stupid idiot just shot you! There's every reason to be upset—and you better not be taking this so calmly because it happens all the damn time, because I will kill this little monster before I let that happen! What the hell! What if you had been on a mission?!" Gokudera yells, running a hand through his hair.

"Well, I wasn't," the woman says calmly.

"But you could have been!"

"Gokudera-kun…?" Kyoko interrupts.

The three people turned around, and Haru can feel a sense of shock go through her once she catches her first full glimpse of the woman's face. She's beautiful, composed, and startlingly familiar.

"Chrome-chan?!" she says.

The woman smiles, the same sweet and slightly mysterious half-smile that graces her younger self's mouth whenever she greets her friends. "Hello, there, Haru-san. No need to worry—we've just had a slight mishap. Everything will be back to normal in about…oh…" She glances at the rather expensive if very elegant watch on her wrist. "…two minutes, give or take a few seconds."

Lambo whimpers and covers his face with his hands. Haru suddenly has a very bad feeling—she recognizes the way he's hunching his shoulders, and it's never a good sign. It usually means he's feeling guilty and has good reason to want to disappear.

From the way Gokudera-kun's glaring at him, he recognizes it, too. "Oi," he says in a threatening manner, "what's the problem now, you dumb midget?" His hand drifts down to his pockets, reaching for the omnipresent stick of dynamite he keeps there.

Ten-years-older Chrome-chan reaches out and tugs Lambo protectively against her body. "Now, Storm Man—"

"You stopped calling me that ages ago!"

She grins a little crookedly. "But you think it's a little weird for me to call you Gokudera-san as if I know you, because you don't know me, not really—right?"

He shifts uncomfortably, and Haru's brows raise in surprise. Chrome-chan's always been observant, but she tends to keep what she sees to herself. Such casual, bold statements of fact indicate despite everything about her that's looks the same, the decade that separates this version of her from the one they know have most definitely changed her.

Gokudera-kun shifts uncomfortably. "Well…yeah…but Storm Man's just as weird!"

Chrome-chan chuckles. "You'll only have to deal with this for a few more seconds," she says. "Just wait it out." She glances back down at her watch, and Haru thinks that despite her calm façade, there's a tension to the way she holds herself that indicates she's as anxious as Gokudera-kun is for her to get back to her own time period. "Ah, here we go…I should switch back in three…two…one…"

They all wait for the cloud to envelop her and whisk her away.

Nothing happens.

Chrome-chan blinks, looks down at Lambo, who's still cowering in her lap, and says, "Oh, dear."

* * *

><p><em>Present Time: Gokudera<em>

* * *

><p>At twenty, Gokudera is even less inclined to put up with Lambo's sheer stupidity and general incompetence and overall proclivity for precipitating crises of apocalyptic proportions.<p>

"What the fuck did you do now?!" he yells, brandishing his dynamite.

The kid just cries harder, and Gokudera's two steps away from strangling him when a pebble hits him in the forehead.

He looks up to find the stupid woman glaring at him, her hands on her hips, a scowl twisting her full mouth downwards. "You stop that right now," she says commandingly. "Give him a chance to explain himself, then throw your little tantrum. In the meantime, please do your best to act your age instead of the six-year-old you like to pretend you are."

Gokudera glares back at her. "Stupid woman, if anyone is a six-year-old in this situation it's Lambo. Now, the little idiot can either 'fess up what he did right this second, or I can beat him up until he tells us."

"I told you!" Lambo shrieks. "I told you the bazooka was special!"

"You liar! It's the same damn bazooka!"

"Special how?" Chrome says, cutting through the argument. She places her hands on Lambo's skinny shoulders and forces the boy to look at her. "Special_ how_, Lambo-kun?"

Lambo swallows nervously. "It's a new bazooka," he says in a small voice. "A special prototype—they wanted to see if my past self could spend more time in the future, and my future self in the past, so they sent me this cool, super-special, really, really awesome bazooka with more settings, and—"

"How_ much _longer is the time period?" Chrome asks intently, giving Lambo a slight shake.

Lambo gulps and holds out the bazooka. "Well, see, here are the settings," he says, pointing to the same indecipherable scribbles that have always covered the damn thing—though now that Gokudera thinks about it, some of the stickers on the bazooka _do_ look a little brighter than they usually are, even if they're the same design…

Jesus Christ, did he really hit her with a new bazooka? Oh, shoot, they were in so much damn trouble.

"And this is one hour…one day…one week…one month…"

With each increasing time period, Chrome goes a little paler. "One month?" she says in a faint voice.

Lambo bites his lip. "Wait, wait! Look, look, here, stupid Gokudera moved the little pointer thingie halfway between one week and one month…so I think you'll be here for maybe…two weeks?"

"Two _weeks_?" Gokudera and Chrome shout at the same time.

"What the hell do you mean, 'two weeks?'" Gokudera demands. "We're leaving for Italy in two weeks' time! We're not brining a Mist Guardian who's out of her own fucking time period halfway across the world with us! And what if the Tenth in the future needs this Chrome?" he says, gesturing at the woman, who's currently staring at Lambo with eerily wide eyes. "What the hell is wrong with you?! You should have shot yourself instead! Your twenty-one-year-old can't possibly be that important, and I'm pretty sure I couldn't possibly want to strangle him more than I want to strangle you right now!"

Lambo opens his mouth as if to try and defend himself (how, Gokudera doesn't really want to know, certain it's only going to use some more of his lunatic-logic), but he's interrupted by Chrome.

"Two weeks," she repeats, gazing unseeingly in front of her, fingers tangling in the fine silk of her kimono, the style of which looks rather familiar, as if he's seen it before, but Gokudera can't quite place where…it hangs a little loosely on her, though, as if it were made for someone larger…he shakes his head. They've got bigger problems now.

He moves to kneel in front of her, but Haru and Kyoko are there before he can do anything.

"It's going to be okay, Chrome-chan!" Kyoko says reassuringly.

"Yeah!" the stupid woman seconds, squeezing the accidental time traveler's hands. "It'll go by really, really quickly! I promise! And, well, I'm sure the other Chrome can handle things just fine in your timeline! She's a strong fighter, after all, you remember. And in the meantime, you can help us move stuff, and—and—and—"

"Move stuff—the move to Italy—oh, _of course_," Chrome says, suddenly straightening, a gleam in her eyes that Gokudera recognizes and dreads. It means she's got a plan, and he probably isn't going to like it. "Of course! This has happened already!"

"…what?" Haru says, brows furrowing.

Chrome stands abruptly, toppling her and Kyoko as she does so. She smiles down at them a little manically. "I have a two-week gap," she says, tapping her head. "In my memories, I mean. I once spent two weeks in the future, and I can't remember a thing about it, but you all told me it was fine—that everything was fine, and that I should just be prepared ten years from now—you made sure to tell me not to panic because we had everything under control, and that my future self handled things very well."

Gokudera stares at her, frowning. "Wait—so this is something that's already happened for you?"

She nods eagerly. "I didn't pay attention and forgot the dates, obviously, but I'm my future self now, and if I remember having a two-week gap, then we're in the middle of a stable time loop, meaning anything I do now has already happened in my future, and nothing should change." She bites her lip and places her chin in her hand. "Hopefully. I could be completely wrong and what I'm planning to do next could start a crisis the likes of the timeline where Byakuran turned evil, but I think I'm going to risk it. It's important."

"Wait, what?" Haru says, staring up at her in worry.

"Important?" Kyoko says, tilting her head in question.

"Crisis?" Gokudera says. "Oh, hell, no."

But it's too late. Before he knows what she's planning, she's grabbing the bazooka from Lambo and examining the lever.

"Does this have a fifteen-minute setting?" she asks authoritatively.

Before Gokudera can tell him not to do anything, Lambo's already pointing.

Chrome smiles again, that polite, chilling half-smile she gets sometimes in a middle fo a mission, and Gokudera can feel a chill go down his spine. "Thank you, Lambo-kun. You;ve been very helpful. Now, there's somebody I have to go see."

With that, she's taking off like a shot, the bazooka held tightly in her hands.

Oh, _shoot_.

"Stop!" he yells.

"Chrome-chan, wait!" Haru shouts, and the two of them sprint together after her.

It's too late, however, and the rumble of an engine confirms that she's stolen Ryohei's motorcycle and left the house, leaving them staring after her.

"Maa!" Yamamoto says. "Was that Chrome-chan just now? She looked really different!"

"Yeah! To the extreme!" Ryohei says unhelpfully from where he's sprawled on the floor.

"Gokudera, what's going on?" the Tenth asks, coming out from the house to see what the fuss is about.

"I—it's—I'll tell you later! I promise! I can handle this!" he says, running for cars.

"Hahi!" Haru says, opening her car's door and sliding into the seat. "Get in now, idiot, before we lose her! Something bad might happen to her!"

_Not to mention the rest of us_, he thinks, but he hurriedly gets in and throws the seat belt on, thankful for once for the crazy woman's crazier driving skills, because they manage to follow older-Chrome (because she's most definitely not _their_ Chrome—their Chrome would have never pulled a stunt like this—okay, maybe she would have, but only in really, really huge emergencies, and she'd have the decency to run it by the Tenth first) through Namimori's traffic.

They stop in front of a vaguely familiar old-style Japanese mansion, and he and Haru get out, Haru already calling Kyoko to tell her the address so she and the others can follow—he can hear the idiot boxer's excited shouts and the stupid swordsman's demented laughter and the Tenth's worried voice coming through the speakers, and he feels a moment of intense gratitude for this family, for _his_ family, for a family and a boss that'll follow him into a potential fight without a second's hesitation.

A family that always, always has his back.

So he heads right through the doors left open in Chrome's wake with Haru by his side, and they follow the sounds of shouting to a little room where—

"Hibari?!" Gokudera shouts.

The Cloud Guardian shoots him a glare sharp enough to have sliced his head off if it had been a blade. "What is the meaning of this invasion?" he says icily from where he's sitting on a cushion on the tatami mat floor, a cup of tea on the low table in front of him and the ever-present Tetsu standing a little ways behind him.

Across from him is ten-years-older Chrome in all her glory, hair windswept and bazooka at her side. "My apologies, Hibari-san," she says in a polite but firm voice. "But this is an emergency." She lifts the bazooka so it's resting against her shoulder and puts her hand on the trigger, aiming it straight at Hibari.

The man bares his teeth in an angry snarl. "Don't you dare—"

"Just wait a damn minute!" Gokudera shouts.

"Chrome-chan, please!" Haru yells.

She calmly ignores all three of them and pulls the trigger. The missile shoots out and sweeps in a lazy pattern right before missing Hibari completely.

"Huh," Gokudera says. "Well, that was—"

He speaks too soon, however, because although it bypasses Hibari, it hits Tetsu right in the chest instead.

Hibari's right-hand man has a few seconds to look surprised before disappearing in a cloud of smoke. A few seconds later, his decade-older self pops up in his place, blinking in confusion.

"What is going—Chrome-sama?" he says.

"Chrome-_sama_?" Haru says.

Gokudera would have said something along similar lines if Hibari hadn't chosen that moment to leap to his feet and attack Chrome.

"Oh, shit," is all he has time to say, fully expecting Chrome to crumple to the ground, knocked unconscious by Hibari's fist any second now.

Instead, she brings up her hand and_ blocks_ him.

Everybody stands around blinking for a couple of seconds. Gokudera thinks he's never seen Hibari look this disconcerted.

Chrome gives him a quiet look. "Not now," she tells him in a decidedly authoritative voice. She swings her attention to Tetsu. "Testu-san," she says, "we have a problem. Code Tsunami."

The other man pales considerably. "Oh. I see. Oh."

Chrome nods grimly. "Yes."

Gokudera looks from him to her to him again before stomping his foot and yelling, "Okay, somebody tell me what the fucking hell is going on and they better tell me _now_!"

Of course, right then was the exact second that the tenth and the others decided to make their entrance.

Gokudera closed his eyes. Sometimes he really hated his life.

* * *

><p><strong>Endnote: And that's chapter five, folks. Thanks for reading!<strong>

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